


Bad Donuts and Worse Coffee

by Adenil



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Therapy, Veterans, WinterFalcon - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-07 00:03:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4241694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adenil/pseuds/Adenil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Sam couldn’t sleep. Other times it was worse than that. He couldn’t eat or speak or breathe, and he couldn’t very well talk to anyone about it.</p><p>Those times he drove four hours out of the city to a little podunk town where no one knew him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Donuts and Worse Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> On [ tumblr. ](http://adenil-umano.tumblr.com/post/122775042510/oh-oh-i-know-winterfalcon-at-a-veterans-support)

Sometimes Sam couldn’t sleep. Other times it was worse than that. He couldn’t eat or speak or breathe, and he couldn’t very well talk to anyone about it.

Those times he drove four hours out of the city to a little podunk town where no one knew him. They didn’t know that he was the guy other guys came to with their troubles. But, they did have a little Veteran’s support group that met weekly, that was guaranteed to have people he’d never met and never would meet again. During the worst times he went there.

Sam was already scoping out the bad donuts and worse coffee–not to eat, but just to have something to do with his hands–when he walked in.

The man was tall, and his placid face was sallow. There were bags under his eyes and he bowed his head as he shuffled in to hide his face behind his long hair. Sam wasn’t quite sure what drew him to the man, but he was drawn. He wandered over with two donuts clutched in his hand and offered one.

“Hey,” he said, smiling as the man turned to look at him. He was almost robotic in his movements, like he hadn’t had to interact with people for a while. Sam assumed he had newly returned home. “Donut?”

He blinked. Sam saw him start to move his left hand to accept, only to stop. He could see shiny metal beneath the man’s sleeve, likely some new kind of prosthetic arm that he hadn’t gotten used to yet. The man finally reached out with his right hand and took the donut.

He just stared at it. 

Sam leaned against the wall beside him. He could see the moderator moving around the room getting everyone to sign in. First names only. “You new?”

The man shrugged. Sam lifted his coffee to his lips but the smell of it almost made him vomit. He lowered the cup again, trying to seem relaxed instead of like he might fly apart at the seams at any moment.

The moderator finally reached them. She handed the clipboard to the other man first. He didn’t take it. He just picked up the pen with his right hand and scrawled something messy.

Sam took the clipboard with a smile. He thought the man’s name was Winter. He scrawled his own name beneath it and handed it back.

“Five more minutes and we’ll get started,” she said, flickering her gaze between the two of them. Her gaze was compassionate, but that was exactly what Sam didn’t need right then so he waved her off.

“Thanks.”

Sam had to lean against the wall again. It felt a little too solid, and sterile in a way he didn’t like but was still trying to force himself to get use to. 

Beside him, Winter took a bite of the donut, then crammed the whole thing in his mouth. His eyes were wide as he chewed, observing the people scattered around the room as they slowly came together at the chairs in the center. Sam had to smile a little. He remembered his first donut back, too. Real fat, fake chocolate, light and fluffy and fresh. Not stale, no sand. Heaven in a little loop of dough.

“We should get headed over,” Sam said quietly. Winter nodded, and followed him.

They sat next to each other, not exactly on purpose, but Sam didn’t really care either way. The moderator had everyone settled soon enough and she began going over the rules of the group. Sam tuned out the admonishments that this group was an anonymous safe space, and to pretend not to know the person from group if they were met out in the real world. Sam knew he would never meet any of these people. They all lived here, hours away from him.

They went around the circle, then, and everyone introduced themselves. It was quick, but far from painless. Sam always felt most like an outsider in those times when he had to say his name outloud. The casual how-do-you-do of introducing himself had long since become unnatural. 

He still said, “I’m Sam,” with a toothy smile and then turned to Winter beside him.

Who said nothing.

It wasn’t that unusual, and after a pause that was only just starting to become awkward the moderator went on to the next person. After that there was silence slowly filled with the space of strained emotions, frightening dreams, more frightening reality. Sam shared a little about the feeling of the world being too sterile, how everything seemed too soft and too clean. He got a lot of nods around the circle from that and felt a bit better. A bit less alone.

Winter, if that was even his name, Sam was wondering now, didn’t say anything. He kept his arms crossed over his stomach and listened intently, staring at each person in turn as they spoke. He never nodded, never shook his head, never gave much indication he was registering anything beyond the strange, piercing intensity of his gaze.

When they finally broke, two hours later feeling wrung out and dry, Sam stood on wobbly legs and grabbed another coffee. It hurt his hand it was so hot. He raised it to his lips to take an unsteady sip of the disgusting slop, feeling anxiety washing away from him, and surveyed the room.

He realized Winter had followed him. He also realized a new person had come in the room during their group, an older white man who was frowning at Winter.

“Is that–” Sam’s voice cracked a little from misuse, and he cleared his throat. “Friend of yours?” He gestured at the man.

At his motion, the man started walking over. Winter turned and looked, and his gaze was as flat as a piece of paper. He still said nothing. 

The man smiled winningly as he approached and Sam relaxed a little. 

“Alexander Pierce,” he said, sticking out his hand for Sam to shake.

Sam accepted it a little awkwardly. “Sam,” he said. “I didn’t notice you in group.”

“No, no,” he said, waving away the question. “I was never in the army. I’m just here to pick him up.” He indicated Winter with his head but didn’t look at him. 

“I see,” Sam said. He got a weird, creepy vibe from the man. Winter wasn’t looking at him; he just stared at the floor, hair fallen in his face. “Coffee?” Sam asked.

Winter glanced up at him, and Sam thought he saw a smile.

Pierce waved away his offer, but Winter took it. He cradled it in his hands as Pierce shifted back and forth on his feet, clearly anxious to get out of there. Well, Sam thought, fuck him. Winter needed a little more time to relax without being swept up by his…dad? Sam wasn’t sure. He sipped his coffee and tried not to wince. It was especially bad today, as only free coffee could be.

Winter raised the coffee to his mouth and took a long sip. Instantly, his face twisted and he choked. He spit it out, little flecks getting all over Pierce’s nicely pressed suit.

“What the fuck is that?”

Sam laughed. He couldn’t help it. Leave it to bad coffee to get the mute guy to speak. But Pierce looked pissed. He grabbed the coffee away and took Winter by the elbow. 

“We need to leave,” he hissed. Winter bowed his head in acquiescence.

Sam watched them go, feeling conflicted. Something wasn’t quite right but he couldn’t put his finger on the feeling. Winter didn’t look back as the doors closed behind him.

Sam didn’t finish his coffee, although he did make an effort at it. He left it in the trash and drove home in silence with himself, traffic lights passing him at even intervals.

That night he couldn’t sleep, but at least he could breathe. He got up early and went for a run, and was passed on the left thirty-six times by an obnoxious man who he later learned was Captain America.


End file.
